The Greatest Mystery of All
by PleaseUpdateSooon
Summary: There are mysteries everywhere we look but what makes it a great one depends on who we are and what we know. What is Sherlocks greatest mystery and how will he solve it? How will John solve the mystery of his feelings and what will that lead to? - Rated T now but will probably change to M later on. I've put it under romance and humor but there will be drama.
1. Tea?

**Please let me in on your thoughts about this fanfic. I do not claim ownership of Sherlock in any way. **

_cautious _

_He looked into his eyes. These eyes, so much soul, such a burning desire to be with him. He slid his hand into his soft hair and pulled him closer. He could feel his hot breath on his lips. He yearned to attack those lips with all the passion that filled his heat. He looked into the eyes again and began to move even closer. He felt his lips bush against his own and now there were sparks of electricity keeping their lips together, pressing them closer… _

"What the bloody hell is that!?"

Sherlock was sitting on the couch, one leg tugged under the other with a book in his hand. John was peering over his shoulder.

_React! Snap book shut. Uncross legs. Cross legs again. Lay book on table. John walks around the couch with his eyes on the book. Quickly pick up book. Book out of Johns reach. Conclusion: John would recognise my embarrassment. Avoiding embarrassment would be beneficial to upholding my ego._

Sherlock sighed unconcernedly.

"It's a novel John. I'm well aware that your deductive skills are not at my level but surely you could have figured this out on your own."

_Nice. Still - a tad condescending but really not that untruthful. _

He couldn't help but smirk a little. He knew he wasn't supposed to taunt John like this, especially when John's confidence in his own deductive skills was lacking somewhat, yet something in their relationship allowed these sorts of conversations to occur without the situation becoming uncomfortable. A kind of relaxedness that Sherlock seemed to suck from everyone else he came in contact with. Still... This was a touchy subject with John.

_He should have reacted by now… _

John huffed.

_There it was._

Sherlock still had his eyes on the pages though he'd stopped noticing the words. He glanced to the side.

_Shadow indicates 30cm from the couch slightly to the left of my position. Arms crossed. _

John was muttering something under his voice -

"I'm well aware…"

Sherlock picked up his mug and took a sip of tea. This tea really was excellent. Sherlock silently agreed with himself that John might not be the best at deducing but he most definitely had "tea-making" skills that could top Mrs Hudson's. John continued but spoke up this time -

"Well "Sherlock", I'm well aware that it's a novel. That's not what I was asking… I'm not a complete idiot."

Even though the last part of Johns sentence had come as more of an afterthought, Sherlock snorted with laughter into his mug as he'd gone back for a second sip of the tea. A huge gulp of the hot steamy liquid spilt down into Sherlock's lap. The book went flying and the rest of the tea now lay on the floor, as a wet, brown spot with the mug lying next to it. Sherlock's hands were frantically trying to wipe off some of the scolding tea that had landed in a somewhat unlucky place. The smirk had gone and been replaced by a slightly panicked and annoyed expression. He quickly looked around the room with a searching stare. His eyes landed on one of John's sweaters lying on the armchair he so frequently vacated.

_Excellent._

Sherlock reached out to grab it, but was stopped in mid action by a tea towel thrown in his face. He took it and began wiping the hot liquid off his pants. Sherlock looked up to see John with a broad grin across his face. He scowled.

"This is what you get Sherlock. It all comes back around." He grinned as he waved a finger around in the air.

_Brilliant… Just bloody brilliant. This was not how the situation should have unfolded. _

"Right! The Universe is punishing me by scolding my privates with hot tea."

John waved his hands in front of himself.

"I don't want to hear about your privates Sherlock." He turned around and headed to the kitchen.

Sherlock dabbed at his crouch with a pained expression on his face.

_The conversations with John might not be awkward but they'd become quite painful none the less. _

"I think I'm going to make a cup of tea… Want one?" Johns grinning face popped into the open doorframe.

Sherlock looked up and scowled at him. Laughing, John's head disappeared.

He stood up and glanced down at himself. The lower part of his shirt and upper area of his pants were soaked in tea.

_This is Disgusting and uncomfortable. No reason to endure this any longer than necessary._

In one quick motion he had pulled down his pants. He stepped out of them and began buttoning down his shirt. When done, he threw it on the sofa. Sherlock picked up the book and was about to sit down when a shout came from the kitchen –

"What in the name of God is this, Sherlock?!"

_Again with the overreactions… Really, the disadvantages of having a roommate were beginning to outweigh the benefits. _

Sherlock sighed and got up. He walked towards the kitchen and realized halfway there that he was still holding the book. He looked down at it and decided that this was probably not the best time to bring up the subject of why he was reading this book. He imagined it wasn't for the reasons John thought. Really it was quite fascinating: Love and affection. This mysterious force that can make people do such irrational things even when logic is staring them in the face. This had always been one of life's great mysteries. Sherlock accepted this but was quite keen to keep his fascination with it a secret. He didn't feel shame about the fact that he'd never felt affection on the same level as other people did, everybody he came in contact with already knew this, it was more the fact that he felt such fascination with it, and he must admit to himself, a burning desire to feel it, to study it… like a normal, mundane person.

Sherlock had been lost in his own thoughts when he was snapped back to reality as John came into the open doorframe, which led into the kitchen. Sherlock's head turned quickly in John's direction as he dropped the book.

John's eyes widened as he saw Sherlock.

"Why are you not wearing any clothes?"

Sherlock stared at him with a blank expression.

_Good. John had chosen to focus on that instead of the book. _

Sherlock was uncomfortably aware of the book lying on the floor with some quite expressive illustrations facing upwards.

John had darted into the kitchen and came back with a flowery apron Sherlock had once "borrowed" from Mrs Hudson to conduct a particularly messy experime…

…_Oh. That must be what John has found in the fridge. This was definitely something Sherlock would gladly have avoided._

John slid the apron over Sherlock's head and walked into the kitchen, indicating that Sherlock should follow. 

Sherlock followed John despite what he knew was coming.

John opened the fridge and pointed to something inside. Sherlock walked over to John and saw what he was pointing at.

"An eyeball! An eyeball Sherlock!"

"There is no need to repeat yourself. I am well aware that there is an eyeball in the fridge."

"I know you're well aware because you put it there! And what kind if liquid is that?"

John squinted his eyes together and wore a disgusted expression.

"It's preserved John. How else would I be able to keep it for a longer period of time?"

"No. This is not staying. You're not keeping this "for a longer period of time". I'm getting rid of this now."

John made to grab the container but thought better of it. Instead he reached out and took a plastic glove that was lying by the sink. By the time he'd got it on, Sherlock had already taken the plastic container out of the fridge and opened it. He was pouring the liquid into a separate container that had been standing on top of the fridge.

"What are you doing?"

"Transferring it to the freezer. No liquid needed for the freezer. This was actually a brilliant idea John. Sometimes you do surprise me."

John reached out to grab the container with the remaining eyeball from Sherlock. As he pulled it from him, Sherlock overbalanced.

John knew what was coming. The container with the liquid that had helped to preserve the eyeball for who knew how long was moving from Sherlock's hand and… "Splash"

_Damn…_

The front of John's t-shirt was covered in the disgusting liquid.

Sherlock saw how Johns face moved from staring down at the stained t-shirt and slowly coming up to face him.

Sherlock swiftly put the container with the remaining eyeball onto the table and stood looking a bit helpless. He looked at John then a small smile began form on his lips.

John looked incredulous.

Sherlock began to laugh.

_This situation really was completely ridiculous and the look on Johns face…_

Suddenly it seemed like John had gotten back the ability to move and he frantically tried to get the t-shirt over his head. When he succeeded he threw it as far as he could and sat down on one of the kitchen chairs looking exhausted.

Sherlock continued to laugh and after a while a smile began to form on Johns lips too which soon turned into laughter as well.

_John really is enjoyable at times. No, the benefits definitely outweigh the disadvantages._

Suddenly a voice came from the living room.

"What in heavens sake is this?"

Sherlock looked at John who was looking back at him.

_This was going to be difficult to explain._

Mrs Hudson came into the open doorframe that led to the living room. She was holding the book in her hand and was currently staring at Sherlock and John as though they were ghosts.

_The apron! The stolen apron…_

Sherlock quickly took of the flowery apron and laid it on the kitchen table out of view of Mrs Hudson.

Mrs Hudson's eyes moved from Sherlock's face to his tea-stained boxers.

_Oh no…_

She looked up at John's naked torso and an idea seemed to form in her mind.

She snapped back to reality and turned on the spot making her way towards the apartment door.

"Oh my. This really is to private for my eyes."

John darted into the living room after her.

"No, no dear. You carry on. I'll just leave you two alone."

Sherlock could hear John frantically trying to change Mrs Hudson's view on the situation.

_This really was going to be very difficult to explain._


	2. The book?

**A little less humour and a little more drama.**

John ran after Mrs Hudson. He followed her into the living room and stopped in front of her just as she was about to leave the apartment. They looked at each other, John apparently lost for words. As she gazed down Mrs Hudson realized that she was still holding the book. She thrust it into John's hand and hurried past him. He looked at it and angrily put it on the living room table. He stood in the doorway to the apartment as he saw Mrs Hudson disappearing down the stairs.

"I'm… We're not… I think you've misunderstood the situation!" There was a definite note of desperation in John's voice.

Mrs Hudson turned around and smiled at him.

"I don't want to interfere with your privacy. I don't judge people on their sexuality. My uncle was… of that kind in secret of course. You couldn't go waving that sort of information around back then but it's much more acceptable today you know. It's nothing to be ashamed about. I have to run. The kettle is boiling down stairs."

She gave him a fleeting smile and continued down the stairs. John buried his face in his hands.

_Why? Why do things always get complicated around __him__?_

John sighed heavily and leaned against the doorframe.

"Has she left?" A yell came from the kitchen.

John slid his hand down his face and revealed an exhausted look that turned to annoyed when he heard the yell.

_No help at all had he been. Typical…_

"Yes Sherlock. She is gone."

John turned around to see Sherlock standing by the doorframe to the kitchen in the flowery apron. He looked unconcerned about the situation. Like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

"Brilliant. Were you making tea? I think I'm in the mood for a cup anyway."

John stared at Sherlock with a look that clearly told you that, in his opinion, the situation could not be less brilliant.

"Brilliant!? She thinks we're…" He trailed of. Apparently to frustrated to finish the sentence. Or could it be a hint of embarrassment in voicing the thoughts of Mrs Hudson?

"What John? That we're gay? Let her think what she wants. It doesn't matter really." He turned around and walked into the kitchen. John, now completely perplexed by Sherlock's peculiar statement stood still and thought. Sherlock was peculiar by nature but he wasn't gay. John knew that much. So why was he okay with other people thinking he was. He couldn't be gay. John would know if he were wouldn't he?

_Why would I know? He doesn't tell me everything. In fact he tells me very little about his feelings._

John's eyes darted to the book lying on the living room table.

John decided to follow Sherlock into the kitchen to get some answers. Before going he grabbed the jumper Sherlock had nearly used to wipe of the coffee with lying across the armchair of the couch. He put it on and went to the kitchen. He walked around the dining table to avoid the "preserved eyeball liquid" lying in a puddle on the floor in front of the refrigerator. Sherlock was standing at the kitchen desk making tea for two. John stopped at the end of the table, Sherlock's back to him.

"What do you mean brilliant? How are you okay with this? And why were you reading that book?"

Sherlock turned around sharply at the last question and pierced John's eyes with his own. They stood like this for a moment both of them completely still. John's mouth relaxed slightly and his breathing intensified. Sherlock spoke soft and slowly. With every answer he moved one step closer to John.

"Brilliant she's gone. I like my privacy and frankly she's too interfering. I'm okay with this because I'm very sure of my sexuality John. It doesn't matter what other people think. It won't change anything." He was now at half an arms length away from John. Johns breathing quickened even more.

_Never noticed how deep Sherlock's voice can become. The softness… _

"And lastly John…" At the mention of his name John took a sharp intake of breath. "…The reason I'm reading that book… Is none of your business. By the way you're still wearing a plastic glove."

John snapped out of his frozen state and took a step back. He quickly collected himself and avoided Sherlock's eyes as he pulled of the plastic glove and laid it on the table.

"Fine. If you don't want to tell me then that's your choice." He walked to the doorframe to the living room.

As he reached it he turned around. Sherlock was still staring at him with a blank expression.

"Clean that up will you?" John pointed to the liquid lying on the floor. Sherlock didn't look away from John.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

John looked through the living room out of the window. It was a sunny day.

_What do I need? I need… I need to get out. I need to think... I need to get away from __him__._

"I'm going out." John started to move towards the entrance to the apartment. Sherlock moved to the kitchen doorframe and in his haste stepping in the liquid. He scowled at his foot and when he looked up again John was gone.

John had almost run down the stairs and was now stepping out onto the pavement in front of the apartment complex. He started walking. Not in any particular direction. Just away from the apartment and away from the place that very odd situation had taken place. He needed to think and breathe and none of these tasks could be accomplished in the presence of Sherlock right now. John was so frustrated with him. Why did he have to be this mysterious always? Never letting anyone inside his brain just to have a peak at the complex feelings he must have. Even though John was one of the few who had an actual relationship with Sherlock his feelings had always been a great mystery to him. Sometimes he could seem so cold. This hurt John sometimes though he'd never admit it to anyone. Like the only one who cared about upholding their friendship was John. Why did he even care? That was another mystery that John thought he'd never solve.

He stopped to cross the road. He arrived on the other side and proceeded into the park that he had been aiming for since he had turned a corner to see it.

John sat down on the first unoccupied bench he saw. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He let himself relax and felt the frustrations leave him like he was breathing them out of his lungs.

As they left him he began to ponder over something else. What had happened to him in the kitchen? Why had he frozen like that? Now that he thought about it, it had felt like Sherlock had petrified him with his stare somehow. John had felt lost and deeply sunken into those eyes. It had made him focus on every movement Sherlock had made. Like John was anticipating something. Excitement had rushed through him and he had found himself not being able to control his breathing. He'd had coffee that morning. Maybe it had been some sort of adrenalin rush caused by the coffee. John didn't think so but could find no other explanation. He decided to open his eyes and have a look at the passers by. Suddenly the sound of a gunshot was heard and the head of a massive statue located about 20 meters away from John shattered like glass hitting the floor. John crouched below the bench and stared around at an attempt to locate the gunman. As it was a sunny day many people were in the park. John could see about 20 people from where he was sitting. Some of them had fallen to the ground and others had run in panic. A few with an unnaturally slow ability to comprehend what was going on still stood looking around with confused expressions. There was no one with a gun in sight. A few seconds later another shot was heard and John saw a teenage girl fall to the ground. Somebody screamed. John took him phone out of his pocket and started texting Sherlock.

"COME QUICK. PARK. GIRL SHOT DOWN."


End file.
